Peacock
by ClassyGirlsWearPearls
Summary: A study in Sherlock and John.


**A/N: ****A study in Sherlock and John.**

**The Katy Perry song is not featured in this story.**

**Happy birthday Kelley from your anon with a southern accent and book similarities.**

It happened by accident.

Occasionally John liked to go to Kew Gardens in Richmond and look at the peacocks. Sherlock once made the mistake of correcting his word choice, commenting on the fact that they were peafowl as there were both peacocks and peahens there. John had never given him such a look before, and this happened after the severed head appeared in the refrigerator. Sherlock had decided that it was in his best interest not to compare the sound of peafowl to a woman being violently attacked.

Every time John went, Sherlock would ask why he liked them, and John would tell him that if he went with him, he would tell Sherlock why he liked peafowl so much. Sherlock would never go, naturally, because even Sherlock will admit in his own mind that he is a lazy sod most of the time. He would ponder why John liked the peafowl, but he never got anywhere other than the fact that sometimes John would get distracted by color and water (most likely because of his extensive time in the desert). After two months and five visits, Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him and he acquiesced. He filed the smile on John's face away into the brightest, sunniest, and happiest room in his mind palace.

The cab ride was excruciating. Sherlock wanted to know why John liked them so much before they got there so he could study the birds and see if John was right about them. John shook his head and told Sherlock that he would have to figure it out by himself. Sherlock huffed and slumped.

"Don't be a child, Sherlock. It's so unbecoming of you," John chided.

"I'm not being a _child_," Sherlock sighed. "I'm merely curious about your fascination with these creatures and desire to understand it better."

"Don't give me that shit. I know your methods."

They didn't say anything until they saw their first peacock.

"Aren't they beautiful?" John asked.

"I admit, they are much more impressive in person," Sherlock admitted.

John smiled then turned his attention back to the peacock. Soon, a few more were strutting over. Sherlock watched and watched and _watched_ but for once in his life he had nothing.

"Do you get why I like them?" John asked after close to fifteen minutes of silence.

"You're attracted to bright objects?"

"Dick," John chuckled fondly, shaking his head. "I like them because they remind me of you." Sherlock's head spun to the side so quickly he worried that he may break his neck, but John continued to look at the bird in front of them. "They seem arrogant because of the way they strut around and they know that they look good. They also know how to flaunt their good looks. But in reality they are fiercely protective of the birds around them or the people around them if they're kept as pets. I made a trip to India with a few mates when we were on leave for a few weeks and at one of the places we stayed there were a few domesticated _peafowl_, and anytime they thought someone may be a threat to their people, they stood in front of them. The inn owners let them know we weren't there to harm them, but they didn't fully trust us. You've done so much to protect me, and I like to think that I'm your people." John turned his head and smiled at Sherlock. "You're a good man, Sherlock Holmes, and I'm glad you're my peacock."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open then shut quickly. He swallowed as if he was trying to say something but didn't know what.

"Don't strain yourself, Sherlock. You don't have to say anything."

Saying nothing seemed so inadequate though. Sherlock was stunned, and he needed to say _something_ but couldn't, and there was John, constant, smiling, and next to him. There had always been tension between the two of them but he had brushed it aside. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do that and now it had closed up Sherlock's throat.

As he searched for something adequate to say, he stared back at the peafowl. Two of them were quietly squawking at each other in almost an affectionate way. That's what he should be doing. They should be talking. More specifically, Sherlock should be talking.

The peafowl stopped their conversation abruptly but without any hint of awkwardness or animosity between the two of them. They walked past each other, and as their plumes passed they brushed them together in an affectionate gesture.

_That was it_.

He needed to move slowly if he wasn't going to scare John away. Judging by the affectionate chuckling sound John had made when the birds had finished their conversation, Sherlock was reasonably certain that he would not reject what Sherlock was about to do. Sherlock convinced himself that it was the fact that there was still a chance that John may not like this and that it wasn't his nerves over what he was about to do.

Very slowly, Sherlock reached his left arm slightly behind John. He threaded their arms together from behind, as if they were linking arms. He had seen people do this before. It was affectionate but ambiguous. Yes. John was not rejecting this contact. This was good. Confidence boosted, Sherlock slid his hand down further. When his fingertips touched John's palm, he paused for a fraction of a second. He drew in a small yet startled breath, and he watched as John's breathing hitched. He knew you weren't supposed to take pulses with your thumb, but he had to be subtle and he was certain that the rapid heart rate was John's rather than his own. He laced their fingers together and John squeezed his hand lightly and quickly. Sherlock's world spun and yet he felt more grounded than he had ever felt in his life.

They didn't say anything, because by the way John's Adam's apple was bobbing he couldn't say anything either. It was okay. They were both speechless and Sherlock didn't care. Based on the smile he got, John didn't care either.

It took a few minutes before they broke the silence. They had turned and were headed to the exit when John finally managed a few words.

"I know what you did there. I'm disappointed by your shoddy pulse taking."

**A/N: My roommate asked me earlier why I was Googling "peacock facts."**

**John's attraction for color and water is inspired by my dad, who grew up in the desert and bought a house twenty feet from a major river and a National Park Service protected site because of water and trees and green things.**


End file.
